The word settled in my chest, heavy and clarifying. This wasn’t about closure or curiosity. It was about official, permanent documentation. Perhaps court filings, written statements, testimony, or legal narratives that couldn’t be walked back.
“He asked you to get that from me in writing, didn’t he?”
It was about who controlled the story once it mattered.
And suddenly one ugly thought hit me: what if Elliot wasn’t infertile at all?
That he’d led me to believe for years that I was the problem while he had a child.
I couldn’t breathe until I knew the truth.
I didn’t answer Claire’s question. Not yet.
And suddenly one ugly thought hit me…
“I need time,” I wrote. “Before I say anything, I need to understand a few things.”
She didn’t push. That alone confirmed what she’d said, that something wasn’t sitting right with her either.
That night, I didn’t sleep. I just couldn’t.
***
The following morning, I requested a day off work and did something I’d promised myself I’d never do again. I started digging.
“…I need to understand a few things.”
The public records led me further than I expected.
Family court filings, a custody dispute, a child’s name I didn’t recognize.
Lily. Four years old.
The math landed hard.
Four years old meant overlap! It meant that while I was scheduling fertility appointments, Elliot was building another life and letting me believe my body was the problem.
I felt stupid. Then angry. And then focused.
Four years old meant overlap!
I found Lily’s mother’s name and number and stared at it for a long time before deciding to call. I wasn’t quite sure what I’d say, but I needed her to confirm what the records said.
